


ma moitié

by klytaemnestra (klytae)



Series: Midgar Blues - A Collection of Shinra Noir [14]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28275609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klytae/pseuds/klytaemnestra
Summary: Rufus considers how he's sentimental for them. He and Tseng together, all those holidays they've shared, the unspoken words while gifts exchanged. Tseng still wears the cufflinks, engraved with the most subtle of endearments in the language of his late mother, and how more than ever, Tseng is his other half.
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Series: Midgar Blues - A Collection of Shinra Noir [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915873
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28





	ma moitié

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Team_bad_ideas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Team_bad_ideas/gifts).



> Written as a Secret Santa exchange.

They are due back at 19:00 hours. The welcoming ceremony in Junon having gone off without a hitch, Tseng’s voice from 300 meters above the planet, echoing over the radio indicating that the newly appointed President of Shinra is in anything but in an amiable mood. The terrorist organization known as AVALANCHE had given them the slip once more, and absconded off in pursuit of Sephiroth while Shinra was left still cleaning up the ticker tape from the parade. The flight back to Midgar is more perilous than usual this evening, with icy rains pelting the city, rendering their landing on the roof inadvisable. Rufus risks it anyway, adding darkly that plummeting off the side of his building at least might save him having to meet with Heidegger and Scarlet the following morning. Tseng says nothing, hands steady on the controls as he passes the building once in a wide arc before setting the bird down with a precision that comes only from countless hours of flight time.

Rufus’ boots skid twice on the slick surface of the landing pad, freezing rain and sleet crunching beneath each step as Tseng reaches out to place a steadying hand against the bend of Rufus’ elbow, the touch still professional, even if their show of discretion has all but been dispensed. They had unabashedly shared the penthouse suite at the Grand Imperial Leviathan Hotel in Junon, Rufus calling up for champagne, with Tseng answering the door in little more than a robe while Rufus lounged naked beneath the bed sheets just out of view. But here, back in Midgar, they must stand on some formality.

There is none of the usual cheer despite the winter holidays, with all available resources being funneled not only into the new President’s inauguration, but the effort to apprehend Sephiroth, the halls of the Shinra building are dismal on this cold winter night. Parties cancelled, decor noticeably absent, not quite the grand ascension to power Rufus has dreamt of for so many long years.

Rufus is silent as he eyes the stack of files left on his desk, each requiring his personal attention.

'Leave them, Mr President.'

Rufus, ignoring Tseng's advice, sweeps an armful up. He'll need to restructure staff. His late father's secretary has made all the immediate changes, Rufus allowing her to keep her current position of overseeing the President’s administrative affairs. Little reason in upsetting the order of things. But everything _else_. There's simply been no time, and his board seems to delight in burdening him with approving and delegating tasks that his father would simply shirk off onto others in between dalliance.

His penthouse is frigid, the temperatures outside having dropped dramatically during their time away. It's a trick of the light, but for a moment he swears he can see his breath misting in the mako tinged darkness, as if some ghostly thing might lurk nearby. He deposits the files onto his desk with a sigh, and checks his phone for any missed calls or emergency texts sent mid-flight. Two from Heidegger, one from Reeve. Later, he thinks, later after he's showered. He gives Tseng a look before vanishing into the adjacent room. Tseng knows it's an invitation.

He strips out of designer clothing, and shivers against the cold.

Rufus steps beneath the steaming shower spray, leans back against the tiles, and thinks of Tseng. The kisses shared in Junon, hands searching, caressing, sliding down smartly tailored trousers to wrap around one perfect cock. They'd fucked until Tseng swore Rufus was a sex demon sent to eke away his life, and when their bodies were spent, lay together, arms and legs entwined, sated and satisfied, celebrating their newfound power. But it is a short, fleeting thing, and now with the gravity of the situation weighing upon his shoulders, there will be no time for such pleasures. He waits a while yet for Tseng to join him, and when he does not, Rufus steps from the shower alone, and accepts that this power comes with certain sacrifice, and how very hollow it will be.

Rufus finds Tseng still dressed in his suit, a glass of what he suspects is certainly bourbon in hand, perched against the edge of Rufus' desk. 'I wasn't sure if you wanted anything.'

Rufus shakes his head a little, fingertips catching on the stack of files. 'I should look over these.'

'Let me help.'

As appealing as that may be. 'That would truly set off the board.' Tseng asks why he cares. Rufus cannot say for certain, only that his father’s nepotism made him weak, his favouritism a farce. 'No, but you're a Turk.' His most trusted ally and advisor, but their duties must remain separate for them to succeed. He laughs a bit. 'Imagine me trying to do your job.'

Tseng smiles as he takes Rufus' hand in his own, thumb drawing light patterns along the palm and wrist. 'You would have made a formidable Turk.'

'Your flattery--'

'You enjoy it.' Tseng's lips are soft against his brow, and for the briefest of moments Rufus considers allowing the paperwork to wait until morning, to let Tseng have his way this evening. That same mouth brushes against his temple. Rufus inhales the scent of sandalwood, myrrh, leather, the trace of gunpowder, and wants.

He pulls away with a sound of frustration, turns to the window where the evening's freezing rain has transformed into snow. It's too warm for it to stick, but Rufus wishes for snowfall, to be buried beneath a blanket of it, trapped indoors for days with only one another's bodies to pass the time. How many memories they have set against the frigid cold of winter, and this, _this_ , must be one more. 'It's been 14 years.' Tseng there on the roof, unaware of how the young heir had weighed the merits of flinging himself off the side, and how this rookie with no reason to care had escorted him back to warmth and given him an unaccustomed hope. 'I wish I could've given you a better holiday than this.'

'You were never sentimental for the winter holidays.' Tseng observes, as gloved hands work at the tense muscles of Rufus' shoulders.

'No.' Rufus considers how he's sentimental for _them_. He and Tseng together, all those holidays they've shared, the unspoken words while gifts exchanged. Tseng still wears the cufflinks, engraved with the most subtle of endearments in the language of his late mother, and how more than ever, Tseng is his other half. It fills him with an ache in his throat, that he has promised his lover the world, and given him only uncertainty. 

'I just thought it'd be different.' Rufus’ voice is very low as he looks out over his city, the way the after image of headlights on the wet payment reflect up at him above the twinkling lights. The shops and perfectly manicured parks along the nicer sectors all alight for the holidays even if few in Midgar seem to be in a particularly celebratory mood. The gaping wound left in Sector 7 smoulders still, those evacuated displaced, reports of homelessness tripled. His father’s final lasting insult, leaving Rufus to pick up the pieces. He remembers the smug sound of his voice, the dismissal, and disregard to those living not only below the Plate, but above. Shinra employees, no less. The very people they were supposed to look out for. He makes a soft sound of disgust and turns away from the glass. ‘I had so many chances to leave it--’ In his lust for power, vengeance over his father, he has found himself condemned to another sort of prison. Midgar, Shinra, the duty of an uncared for son to a city left in shambles.

'You can still give it up. Once this is over.' Tseng words are meant as a comfort. Rufus wishes to recoil instead. Out of horror at his own hubris, his weakness. Questions in that moment if perhaps his father had seen some deep flaw within him that made him unfit to inherit, that he is reaping the consequences of his own vanity. If he's brought ruin to both he and Tseng. 

'I fear that too has passed.' The lips that meet his are insistent, Tseng swallowing whatever words of doubt linger. Rufus sighs into the kiss. 

'You need time.' Tseng offers assurance when he withdraws, hand lingering against Rufus' cheek.

'Time is a luxury we don't have.' If those spectral visions are to be believed, Tseng’s life, and the fate of Midgar hang in the balance. And--

He knows he's seen his death. He does not fear it, only his failure. If he is to prevent any of this, he needs answers, and accepts he can trust no other. 'I need you. Shinra is too obvious, but you.' Trained in covert espionage, secrecy. 'I need AVALANCHE brought in. Make some show of it if you must. Kill those who resist.' It's an order he's prepared to make, to hold onto his newly found power, to save Midgar.

'And the others?'

'I'll deal with Heidegger and Scarlet.' Just because Tseng will be taking a more calculated approach doesn't negate their need to be seen as working to apprehend both the terrorists and Sephiroth. If anything, their antics might give Tseng an advantage.

'I don't envy your position.'

The name Sephiroth lingers unspoken on Rufus' tongue. 'You should. Yours is far more dangerous.'

The hour is late, Rufus still seated at his desk, paper cartons of Wutaian takeout littered across it, as he pokes mindlessly at a veggie dumpling with his chopsticks. Tseng is situated on the sofa, finally having eschewed his suit for pyjamas, hair swept up, laptop balanced between his legs. Darkstar sits at his feet, having been returned from boarding a while earlier, happy to see her master, but intelligent enough to know when it's time for work and not play. Rufus does not ask what Tseng is reviewing, knowing it's some barebones plan of action.

'I'll be taking Elena and Rude with me.' Tseng offers, as if sensing the way Rufus' gaze strays toward him. It's to alleviate his concern and for that Rufus is almost grateful. It is not a light thing he does, asking the man he loves to go at this alone. The additional backup is a welcome reassurance that what they are planning will work. Tseng glances back to the laptop screen, taps out a few words before placing it aside. 'Rufus.' His voice is laced with concern, and something deeper still.

Rufus watches the way his lover shifts on the sofa to make space for him, and looks to the time. Tseng speaks his name again, this time more commanding. He settles beside him a moment later, leaning into the touch as Tseng winds an arm about his shoulder.

'I know this isn't what you envisioned for us, but it will change.' Rufus makes a doubtful noise, but does not protest when Tseng continues on of how he has earned his respect and trust and utmost loyalty, that he believes in Rufus' ability because he chooses to. It will all be as it should by the New Year. And then they'll celebrate, just the two of them. 'When this is over--'

'Don't.' He thinks again of his city. The smouldering wreck in his mind. Brilliant white around him, the choking reek of smoke. And Tseng. When he looks to the snowfall just beyond the glass, it resembles ash. A rush of copper tang fills his mouth. Blood. It dawns on him then that he's nearly bitten through his cheek, the dull ache of it throbbing. He stands to cross the room once more, fingertips misting along the frozen windowpane.

Tseng calls his name twice.

When Rufus does not answer. Tseng rises from the sofa, displacing Darkstar with his sudden movement. The arms that surround him are warm, Tseng’s chin resting against the line of his shoulder. 'You've been living in the future and in the past for so long, I worry you barely see what's here right now.'

Rufus cannot find it within himself to disagree. 'I wanted us.' _And the world_.

'Come to bed.' Tseng breathes, and Rufus wants to. To lose himself in his lover's embrace and forget that Sephiroth, AVALANCHE, Midgar, all of it exists if only for a while.

'Don't wait up.' He replies instead and turns away, unwilling to see the way he knows Tseng looks at him, eyes concerned, and tinged with the barest hint of sadness. He waits until he hears the bedroom door quietly close before he returns to his desk, and accepts how very lonely life seems now that he's achieved those seemingly elusive dreams. That all his promises of one day ruling Midgar with Tseng at his side, his other half, seem nothing more than idle fancy.

Outside the falling snow turns back to rain.

_Fin_


End file.
